


Missing Link

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-28
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: When one sense is missing, another one can fill in the gaps.   Spoilers: 4.15 "Affliction", 4.16 "Divergence"   (10/28/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Written for the LJ Community FanFic100, only 98 more to go, prompt 36, "Smell".  
  
Beta'd by the lovely Mareel as usual.  


* * *

~ E-Deck ~ 

He tossed and turned, the usually inviting deep red sheets simply feeling stale tonight. Pale blue light fed the wall underneath the viewport, drawing in the chill from the stars as they streaked past. Green eyes idly followed the random patterns they painted against the endless inky night outside the ship, but he didn't really see anything at all. The mind raced instead, full of doubts and fears again, rather than the calming emptiness he had trained himself to count on close to sleep. 

Jon had always slept better in cooler rooms, although best of all with a warm, familiar body to tangle against. Tonight he had one and not the other for the first time in a long while, and without knowing when his lover would be sharing his bed again. Not long, he surmised. They'd come to terms, ironed out the wrinkles--no, it was more, far more, like filling in a chasm that had opened up between captain and lieutenant and threatened to swallow them both whole before his officer chose his final loyalties. No more Harris. No more secrets. Only one commanding officer. 

No longer was there 'another man.' 

Still, Jon slept alone tonight. 

It was good, probably, he told himself. Good to spend some time apart. No matter how much he dreaded it. Malcolm's quarters three decks up sat unused more often than not ever since their time in The Expanse, when Jon's need for another soul in the dark, empty middle of too many screaming-awake nights overcame their need for absolute propriety. Malcolm had stayed, from sleep to morning, anchoring Jon's drift away from himself, from who he was versus who he feared he was becoming. 

Now months later he felt himself flailing again, kicking around in his own head and unable to find the soothing moment that bridged the transition from captain to Jon, from the watchful consciousness required for his waking hours to the merciful peace stemming from a kiss, a touch, a wonderfully whispered word. The captain's quarters felt strangely cold and uninviting where they hadn't been that way before. 

Funny how one word all those months ago had changed everything around him. 

Jon turned onto his side, pulling down a pillow to curl over and under, anything 

better than empty arms. Restlessly his head nested for cool respite and suddenly Malcolm was there, his warmth returning to memory, every angle and curve of his body found in the tufted cushion, the brush of a hard day's stubble 

most certainly felt against Jon's cheek, welcome and wanted. He sighed and hugged the pillow close, a deeper, slower breath bringing Jon's other senses home again and washing him with a familiar calm. Now he could sleep. 

Until Malcolm was in his bed once more, his scent would have to do. 

~ B-Deck ~ 

Despite everything Malcolm tried, he bloody well couldn't sleep. All the tossing 

and turning in the world hadn't helped, nor mental exercises to keep the wolves at bay. Something other than his lover was absent, and for the life of him he couldn't pin it down. As if there needed to be more to everything than betraying 

his captain and being thrown in the brig for it. 

He knew it would take time. But how much time, he couldn't say. 

Healing the breach in professional confidence was completely different. There was a process, a structure in place. One's superiors either allowed unassailable 

loyalty from the past to influence future trust, or lost sight of it when the present wasn't as it seemed. Both completely understandable reactions, to be expected in these circumstances. 

It was all part of the training, Malcolm knew. He would have easily factored ongoing collateral damage into the plan--if there had actually been one. Rather, it had become a matter of Harris dragging him back into a role he'd thought was long past, and pitting him against the one person that mattered the most, putting everything he held close in peril for the sake of a far-removed oath of service. 

He'd hurt Jon deeply. He'd heard it in the strained cracking of his voice, and witnessed the gradual fade of vibrant angry eyes to pallid green. Even his touch 

felt foreign, brusque, in opposition. Hands that had caressed and ministered to Malcolm the night before had become grave in their purpose and brittle in their touch. 

Though the situation was behind them, there had been no subsequent time to begin knitting their personal lives back together. The wound was too fresh, and even though Malcolm knew what he needed in resolution--he could only hope that Jon wanted the same--it was impossible tonight. Perhaps for several nights. So they each retreated behind necessary walls to regroup, to grow strong 

enough to eventually overcome any damage, no matter how temporary. 

But the one thing he hadn't anticipated was what he missed now. For all the times Malcolm had slept by himself even since they'd become lovers, he'd never felt alone. Being separated, before, for whatever reason had been a temporary arrangement. Tomorrow would always bring the next shift, working closely enough with Jon to share a stolen glance, or catch a knowing smile meant only for him--tiny reassurances of being more than just a secret to his lover, publicly acknowledging whatever they could of their private lives together if even for a moment, and only between them. 

Staring at the ceiling in the darkened room, 'tomorrow' might as well have been another ten years. Jon wasn't with him now--perhaps in more ways than one--and Malcolm had never been more isolated. 

He briefly leaned into a hand while perched on the edge of the bed, letting his fingers slide at an angle across pinched lips before rising. Silly, really, he thought. Nonsense. Something a child would do. Nevertheless, he crossed the room and sorted through his bottom chest drawer, shuffling underneath several neatly folded things before pausing, knowing the shirt by feel. Soft, well-worn, 

the deep red material almost melted into Malcolm's hand as he pulled it out, losing its shape completely. 

No matter, crisp creases and tucked sleeves were of no concern once buried deep under the covers. 

He traded his own bare skin for a new one, the large shirt draping over his somewhat smaller frame as if providing shelter underneath. Fingers traced the silkscreened letters that arced over his chest, eyes closing briefly before adding a solemn nod and brushing his hand the rest of the way down the shirt and over his abdomen before returning to bed. The warm hollow he'd left behind felt slightly more welcoming as he fiddled with blankets and pillows to find an acceptable state of comfort, one that hopefully reminded Malcolm's body of holding and being held. 

He sighed, finally, digging his chin under the too-big collar and burrowing his head against the fabric over his arm. Nothing had changed, really, in the course 

of a minute or two, yet he felt a shift toward normal even as he chided himself. 

Silly, yes. But necessary. He would sleep now, he was sure of it. 

He could still smell Jon in the folds of the shirt, and tomorrow would come after all. 

~the end~


End file.
